


On the Shore of Manhattan Beach

by Control_Room



Series: The Big Picture [4]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Angst, Disability, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Paralysis, Psychological Trauma, Sign Language, Voice Problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 04:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19099735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Fear in love.Revere.





	On the Shore of Manhattan Beach

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the last chapter of The Concept.

It was so calming to be with him. He was so kind to allow him to be with him.

 

Henry’s hand tightened around his own.

 

_ I want to please you _ , Joey tried to tell him. All he managed was, “P-please….”

 

Henry gave him a blank, sidelong look.

 

Joey coughed, his throat aching and tight.

 

He was terrified.

 

He loved him.

 

He tried to tell him that, too.

 

“I… you….”

 

Henry did not reply, Joey doubted he even heard him.

 

Joey shakily brought Henry’s hand to his lips, pressing nervous kisses along the back of it.

 

“You…”

 

“Joey, don’t use your voice,” Henry hushed him, pulling him closer to his side.

 

Joey whimpered, his entire body aching, his throat feeling tight and raw.

 

“N’t leave….” Joey begged, his voice sore and rasping.

 

Henry’s eyes flicked to his, then to his throat.

 

“I won’t.”

 

Joey made a frustrated noise, hating his lack of communication. Speaking always was the only thing he could fall back on.

 

“Why did you do that to yourself, Joey?”

 

Oh, he would have done worse if he could. He would have torn it out had his hands still been claws. He would have smashed it out had his body still been pipes. He would have crushed it had he still had a second pair of hands.

 

He wanted to go.

 

He wanted to go to a world where he could walk on his own legs, even with a third supporting him, he wanted to go to a world where someone would at least accept his love without rebutting it, without making it seem like nothing. He only had his love to give, and he had so much of it.

 

He wanted to go.

 

But Henry was here.

 

So, despite his pain and soreness and exhaustion, he remained.

 

Henry’s hands traced the scratches and marks on Joey’s neck.

 

He shook his head sadly.

 

“Screaming yourself hoarse, while,” he swallowed roughly, his brows knitting together to a ‘v’ with concern, “while you were hurting yourself like that.”

 

_ Nothing feels real _ , he wanted to tell him, he wanted Henry to make something feel real. To accept his love. All he could choke out was a quiet, “Nothing.”

 

Henry studied him.

 

Joey shut his eyes to avoid those piercing blue eyes.

 

So bright and brilliant.

 

It hurt him to see them, to see their radiance and intellect.

 

His chin was tugged up, probably for the Doctor to better assess the damage he wrought on his own flesh.

 

Sure enough, there was a disapproving hiss, the round and rough pads of Henry’s fingers tracing the aggravated skin.

 

“Why did you do this?” He demanded again, but this time, there was a fear in his voice.

 

Joey slowly opened his eyes to look Henry in the eyes.

 

His tired, miserable, red eyes, looking into such stunning rays of skylight.

 

“I can’t,” he told him. The truth. He leaned to Henry, pulling his hand down. He looked at their joined ones between them. He pulled his away. Henry watched him surreptitiously, until all his attention was swallowed up by Joey’s hands. Sign language, of course. CAN NOT BREATHE EVER

 

“What do you mean?”

 

FAKE

 

He dropped his hands into his lap.

 

Henry’s gaze turned from melancholic to complete sadness.

 

“... Joey.”

 

He was pulled closer to the man. Henry’s hand returned to his.

 

“You’re not fake,” he told him.

 

Joey stared at him, searching his eyes for a lifeline of truth.

 

Henry’s hands came to the side of his head, and he pulled him down so their foreheads met.

 

“You’re not fake,” he repeated, bright lightning blue eyes connected with Joey’s reds. “I swear, you’re real to me, and that’s all that matters. You’re real.”

 

His fingers were so solid.

 

Joey closed his eyes to bask in the feeling.

 

The weight of reality was such a comforting pressure.

 

Henry was always so comforting.

 

He always was so kind and gracious.

 

Joey’s eyes opened to meet Henry’s again, startled by the colors he saw around them.

 

No more void. They stood on the sands of Manhattan Beach.

 

There were no people, though Henry gaped at the land before them, swiveling around, and then facing back to Johan.

 

“Did you….”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s… just the same as it was. It’s….”

 

Henry inhaled the sea air, his countenance clearing. His hand reached down to Johan’s, taking it and smiling as he looked out to the waters.

 

“It’s great.”

 

“You’re great.”

 

Henry froze, staring at Joey. Joey kept his eyes on the sand.

 

“I love you.”

 

“Joey….”

 

“I love you, Henry.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Please… say it.”

 

“I… you know.”

 

“Henry….”

 

“Johan….”

 

“Henry, please.”

 

“Joey.”

 

“Please….”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

Joey exhaled a breath he did not know he was holding, getting to his knees from his wheelchair. Henry’s attention was drawn to him by that, and he attempted to get him to go back, but Joey was already kissing his hands, tears dripping down his cheeks.

 

“I’m trying to… I’m trying to be good enough,” he coughed, his throat still hoarse and raw. “I’m trying to be worthy of your love… I don’t deserve you.”

 

“Joey Drew, please, don’t start this again. You deserve to be treated like a human.”

 

Johan whimpered, continuing to kiss Henry’s hands until he pulled them away with a sigh.

 

“Joey….”

 

He lifted him up, pushing him back into his wheelchair.

 

“Henry, I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

Joey looked at his shoes, tears spilling down his face uncontrollably, shaking. His hands were shaking. And then they were not. He did not bother to check why they stopped shaking.

 

“Joey, stop.” Joey’s eyes snapped up to ask silently, ‘stop what?’ Henry pointed at his hands, which Johan then realized he had been scratching his own wrist, deep and rough. So that’s why they were not shaking. He stopped, blushing, muttering apologies. Henry looked back around, and froze, turning back to face Johan, slowly. “If you’re already on Manhattan Beach….”

 

“About ten more runs.”

 

Henry’s face remained blank for a moment, and slowly lifted, slowly became happier and more elated.

 

He leapt into the air with a, “YES!”

 

He laughed, jumping around, kicking up the sand happily.

 

Johan’s smile was painful.

 

Henry noticed and stopped his jubilations.

 

“I’ve got wings…” he sang softly to Joey, leaning to him. “You’ve got wings….”

 

“Henry,” Joey choked out, the tears he had been holding in finally slipping out, sliding down his cheeks as he forced away sobs. “Don’t make me do this.”

 

Henry did not say anything. Joey clasped his hands in prayer for him.

 

“I’m… I don’t want to lose them….”

 

Henry sat in the sand, looking out to the ocean.

 

Joey lowered his head.

 

“I’ve melted my wings in the sun, and now I’m drowning.”

 

“Johan….” Henry stood, and rose Joey’s head. “Joey. Look at me. What did I promise you?”

 

“When I… when I finish… we’ll do it together.”

 

“The other promise.”

 

Joey looked at his hands on his lap.

 

Useless legs.

 

“The other promise, Joey.”

 

Johan swallowed tightly.

 

“C’mon. You know it.”

 

“When I finish, if I finish before time’s up, I can go out and do what I want until you finish all rest of the runs.”

 

“That’s right,” Henry said happily. He continued singing, “All us people, we’ve got wings….”

 

He looked at Joey again.

 

“Why so glum?”

 

“I don’t want them to see me like this.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Joey looked off.

 

“Old.”

 

“Johan.”

 

“I’m still twenty two, but time works now, and I’m old. I’ve got white hair-”

 

“Silver,” Henry pointed out. Joey glared at him. “And the tips are still blue and black.”

 

“A wheelchair-”

 

“You’re not the only one, and you did use one when you were younger as well.”

 

“Wrinkled-”

 

“Not really, one line doesn’t count. Your body is pretty much as it’s always been - thin and wired. I don’t think that the aging really affected you further than your hair and legs.”

 

“Henry! Don’t you get it!? The point is that I’ve aged!” Johan bitterly turned away. “I’m old now, and they are young. They don’t want me around.”

 

“You’re still twenty two.”

 

“You really don’t understand, do you?” Joey spat, tears breaking the surface of the sand. Henry shifted, unwilling to admit that fact as a truth, his silence speaking more than words ever could. Joey ran his hand through his silver hair, tugging on it. “Oh, Henry… I’m so very old and weak - unlike you, strong and vigorous.”

 

Henry did not say anything, only gaped at him. Neither spoke for a long time, the only sound the crashing waves and the crying gulls.

 

“You don’t need your wheelchair in other dimensions, just the cane, right?” Henry asked softly. After a moment Joey nodded his head in confirmation. “I can promise you that they won’t care about your hair.”

 

Joey stirred, looking over at him with sad eyes. He looked so broken, exhausted and worn. 

 

“Do you… do you promise?”

 

“I promise.”

 

They sat together in silence.


End file.
